


just peachy

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol, Drabble, Existentialism, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Murderface and Pickles play Overwatch, drink, and have an existential crisis.





	just peachy

"Fuckin' powered up my ult."

"Alright den, use dat shit, bro. Go self-destruct some shit."

"Okay, okay, don't rush me."

Murderface grumbled, jamming a few keys on his computer. "Schuck my assch, fuckin' newbie campersch." He grinned. Pickles rolled his eyes. "I'd better get play of the game for thisch shit, I gotta get at leascht three killsch."

"Dood, I think ya missed."

"Fuck!" He slammed his fist on a table. "I'm- I'm dead!"

"Should'a been payin' attention." Pickles snarked. "Better take a shot."

"I hate thisch game, you ain't been drinkin' shit."

"Because I don't suck at dis game. You die, you take a drink, I don't die, so I don't fuck'n take a drink."

"Fuck you!" 

"Ey, dis was yer idea!" Pickles rolled his eyes. "I think ya respawned."

"Oh. Oh, shit, shit." Murderface took to the keyboard, licking his lips in concentration. "Hold on, I got thisch." His eyes were already glazed over after three games, lips slightly slack. "God, makesch me wanna kill myschelf."

"Murderface, c'mahn now."

"Isch true! I wanna die, nobody'd care."

"Don't do dis while we're tryin' to have fun, dood."

"I'm juscht bein' honescht with you."

Pickles sighed, clicking on the keys. "Nische headshot, dude."

"Thenks. Gaht real good at usin' th' scope."

"Yeah, isch real nische."

"...You seem down fer some reason." Pickles looked past his screen. "What's eatin' you?"

"Life hasch no meaning." Murderface lowered his shoulders, taking a long drink from the bottle of Jack and wiping his lips. "What're we doin', Picklesch. Juscht waschtin' away. And here I am, drinking over a fucking game of Overwatch."

"Dood, the fuck."

"Who am I?"

"Yer William Murderface."

"But like, doesch that matter?"

"Yer gettin' wailed on, dood. Watch out for Bastion."

"Who am-- I know, shut up! God, fucking Baschtion, piesche of..." Murderface slammed his fist on the table, tears welling up in his eyes. "Why ain't I good at thisch fucking game?! I hate it! I'm gonna die, and then they'll know to nerf that fucking schtupid robot! But it'll be too late! And I'll be dead!" 

"Yer gonna respawn."

Murderface poured himself another shot, whining.

"Why do I do thisch to myschelf. If I'm gonna be thisch schelf-deschtructive I should juscht give up!"

"It's naht self-destruction, it's just a fuckin' drinkin' game."

"It isch, though, like, why do we have fun fuckin' guzzlin' boosche, isch weird. Why don't we juscht die. What'sch the point. Why'sch it fun. Who the fuck made it like thisch."

"Murderface!" Pickles groaned. "You're bein' so fuckin' weird! This ain't even about booze, is it?"

"...Juscht feel like shit today."

"Fuckin' polish off all the whiskey if you want. Jest quit bein' so depressin'."

"Can't help it, I juscht-" Murderface sighed. "I'm a schpeck, you know? And I feel like one. I feel like- I feel like I'm in a video game. A really bad game of Schimsch. Right? Like I ain't got no free will. Even if I think I do. And everyone elsche isch juscht programmed to hate my gutsch, right? And that'sch my life. I'm a shitty NPC. And I wanna- I wanna die. Fuck." His hands were furiously working the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen.

"Y'know, I don't think you should drink no more."

"Why? I keep dying, isch the rulesch."

"...Yeah." Pickles sighed.

"Not like it matters."

"Sure... yeah, not like it matters."


End file.
